Back in the hospital

Naturally, the first song to pop up on a random play of the songs on my phone would be “Hymn to the Fallen.”

Hospitals have been a benign place most of my life. While not exactly money in the pocket of a forgotten pair of jeans, it hasn’t been the center for suffering and death it can be for others. Growing up I had my share of stitches, broken bones, and dislocated hips. The best was the time broke my leg and dislocated my hip… and passed out when they relocated it (at the tender age of four). But all of those trips involved fixing things… making existing pain go away.

That’s changed a bit in the last few years. Heart attacks, miscarriages, loneliness, and false alarms have given me that sense of dread other people feel.

Sure, there have been really, really good times too, but we’re not bringing any children into the world today.

I got the call on the courtesy phone a few minutes ago. Cheryl’s surgery has started. It’s a routine surgery. Her doctor has “done hundreds of them.” If I’d been here for all of them I might feel a little better about it too.